TWO MEN, Northhamptonshire, 1921
If it weren’t for the horses, Jonathon would have stayed in the field and kept harvesting the wheat that was ripe and would not last long. But the horses were dry and slowing down. He couldn’t work them the two hours it would take to finish his field. He’d have return as the sun was setting.
Farming was hard work, farming, but with all the men returning from the war in Europe, there weren’t enough factory jobs to go around. He had worked in London for two years during the war because his slight limp kept him out of the trenches. “A condition unbefitting an officer of His Majesty’s Militia,” was printed on his papers after only a month in training camp.
Jonathon decided to follow the streambed back to Four Corners where we could take the path back to his cottage. The streambed was cooler, the horses could drink, and the pace would be slow. He left the wagon in the field.
Jonathon was knee-deep, the water rushing against his pants, when he heard music. As he rounded a bend he could see a punt that had been pulled underneath a laurel tree by a gentleman wearing a shirt with no collar open to the waist. A white jacket and a bright striped tie lay on the gunwales. The man was half-reclined singing a Scottish tune.
Jonathon tipped his hat in deference to the gentleman and kept moving, expecting no greeting.
“Hello there young fellow. My name is Cyrus, and I am getting away from a very boring party of people wearing far too many clothes for a day like this.
Jonathon nodded and smiled at the man, still keeping his distance. “It is a very hot day, sir.”
“Would some lemonade cool you down? The kitchen packed me a basket of food and drink. Then I added a bit of rum to the lemonade. Would you share some with me?”
“I would like some, indeed, sir”
“Please do not call me sir. You must call me Cyrus.”
“All right then, I will have some lemonade, Cyrus. And I will not mind that you added rum to it.”
Cyrus pulled the basket from beneath the seat and stepped to flat bit of land above the bank. He spread a cloth on the ground and pulled a bottle of lemonade from the basket. “Tie your horses and sit down,” he said.
Jonathon tied the horses to a low-hanging bough and rinsed his hands in the creek. He took a handful of water and splashed it on his face as he pulled back his long, blond hair. Sunlight sparkled on the water in his beard. He jumped the bank to stand over Cyrus as he opened the bottle. Cyrus took a deep draught and held the bottle up to Jonathon.
“I have no glasses. Drink. Hope you don’t mind.” Instinctively Jonathon looked at Cyrus’s mouth as if to see if there might be a problem drinking from the same long neck of the bottle. But he was caught by Cyrus’s lips that were wet and full as Cyrus licked the bits of lemonade from his moustache. He quickly looked away. “I do not mind at all.”
“Have as much as you want. I still have rum if you run dry.”
“It is only proper to share,” said Jonathon as he lowered the bottle to Cyrus. He noticed Cyrus looking at him the way the man had looked at him in the tube station one night and then took him back to his flat where they had had sex. The man had him leave immediately after the sex. That look now made Jonathon nervous, and he did not return it.
Cyrus looked up and smiled. “Come on, sit down with me.” Jonathon wanted nothing more than to sit with this man as he watched Cyrus’s strong hand pat the cloth next to him. He looked back as if to check the horses, but he looked away because he was afraid. Finally, he sat at a distance from Cyrus. Cyrus’ hands reminded him of the strong hands of the Smithie his boss in London. They repaired axles on Army’s wagons that hauled troops and cargo to the coast. One night after working late they had gone to the pub and drank mead to celebrate some festival Jonathon couldn’t remember and got quite drunk. The two stumbled back to the Smithie’s workshop where an argument ensued. The Smithie pushed Jonathon, and he pushed back. Jonathon and the Smithie grabbed each other and fell to the floor. In their clumsy attempts to get the best of one another, they fell face to face. They kissed suddenly and brutally. Without any words they probed the other’s mouth. They kept at it, rolling around, neither able nor willing to stop.
Jonathon was woozy but as ecstasy rose he stopped fighting back when the Smithie’s shirt was torn open exposing his chest covered with dark, curly hair. Jonathon lay on a large work table at the side of the shop, pretending to be drunker than he was. Without notice Jonathon’s arms were tied together and pulled above his head where the Smithie secured the rope to a ring on the table. Jonathon tried to kick himself free but as he twisted he feared he would roll off the table and be worse off than he was. When the Smithie covered his mouth again with his bearded mouth Jonathon went limp. His feet were tied to the table. And when he was splayed out, the Smithie mounted the table and lay on top of him, kissing him and caressing his face.
Jonathon did not remember everything that followed because he went into a trance. He remembered having his shirt opened and severe pain on his nipples then something unlike anything he had known. The man had slapped his chest hard, then gently rubbed his hand over the red-blond hair, then slapped again. His nipples felt very thick as if standing at attention. The Smithie also slapped Jonathon in the crotch, lightly at first, then surprisingly hard. He did it only three or four times, but Jonathon could see a hunger in his eyes that suggested he wanted to do more and harder. When Jonathon nodded very slowly, the Smithie repeated the poundings. Jonathon also remembered, less clearly, being taken down from the table and held in the Smithie’s arms.
Shortly thereafter Jonathon moved back to the farm. He seldom thought about the Smithie because it was too good a thought to have when there was nothing he could do about it. He had pushed the memory aside, although at times wondered what it might be like if he were the Smithie.
“You still with me? Cyrus asked. He had removed his shoes and opened the top of his pants and was lying back.
Jonathon responded, “I was somewhere else, excuse me. I’m sorry.”
“And what are your dreams like, if I might ask.”
“They are nothing. Just foolishness.”
Cyrus said, “There is not enough foolishness in the world. I believe we should all be foolish and break laws. The war is over. If we don’t have to be so frugal with our tins and kerosene, so why be frugal with our imaginations?”
Jonathon answered, “I’m sure you are right. But I am foolish, I’m afraid.” He shifted to sit closer to Cyrus. “Do you mind if I take off my boots and dry my feet?”
“Please. I would take them off for you but I respect your privacy and confess to no training as a lackey.”
“You could take them off and you would still be a gentleman.”
Cyrus crouched over Jonathon’s legs and slowly unbuckled his boots. He pulled them away at the top and shifted them back and forth before putting his wrist under the heel and pulling with his hands. Jonathon watched the muscles tense as he pulled. He watched the blood course in the thick veins on Cyrus’s arm.
“There,” Cyrus exclaimed, “Your feet are naked. Do you like being naked?”
Jonathon caught himself before he spoke. He wanted very much to be naked with this man, but he held his tongue. “In the bath I suppose. No reason to be naked otherwise, I should imagine.”
“Unless you are swimming.”
“I do not know how to swim.” Jonathon smiled sheepishly.
“Then you must bathe in the stream.”
“If it is only bathing I will.” Jonathon stood and removed his shirt. He pulled the braces over his shoulders and let them fall to the side. After brushing bits of chaff from his chest he stood in soft, worn cotton underpants that reached to his knees when his leggings fell to the ground. Cyrus stood and let his pants fall, exposing starched shorts. He asked, “Before you bathe, may I hold you?”
The two men embraced for some time. Both could feel the strength of the other’s body, the heat. They pulled their shirts over their heads and moved their chests together and stood joined skin to skin. When he was unable to hold back any longer Jonathon turned to put his face in front of Cyrus. He looked into his eyes that looked back. He moistened his lips with his tongue and while still looking into Cyrus’s eyes slowly he pressed his lips to Cyrus’. Without effort he found his tongue slipping into Cyrus’ mouth. By the time they fell to the ground, both men had kissed the entirely of the other’s body, taking turns and following one another. First licking the neck, then caressing the chest with long, slow pulls of the tongue. By the time they had reached each other’s cocks both were rigid within their confinements. Crystals of liquid lay in their shorts just over their piss slits. Constrained, their balls churned with excitement. Jonathon’s skin felt as though a gentle electric current was running over it, and every part of his body was alive. They pivoted so that both could have at the other’s cock while his was slowly being swallowed. In gentle rhythms they rocked back and forth, rolling over and over so that one was on top, then the other.
“I want to be inside the rest of you.” Cyrus said as he pushed a shank of hair out of his face and smiled at Jonathon. “Can I? I will be gentle. ”
Jonathon lay down on his stomach, and Cyrus pulled his shorts down and off. He made a pillow of them for Jonathon then covered his leaking cock with copious spit.
Cyrus had a thick cock that hurt as he entered. But Cyrus moved slowly; and when he felt Jonathon relax, he began to pump his cock a little, then harder. As Jonathon moaned Cyrus reached beneath him and slowly gripped his nipples. He pulled them down as he arched his pelvis forward. Again and again he fucked Jonathon’s ass with a slow easy rhythm as he held his nipples with his fingers. They lay back after a long time of being welded together and searched the clouds for the figures of gods. “The god must be watching if they let us do this,” Cyrus said as he shielded his eyes with his hand. They drank more lemonade and ate bits of a pear and some cheese. They walked down to the stream and splashed water on themselves and returned to their place on the creek bank.
Without notice, without words, Jonathon grabbed Cyrus by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground. He slapped Cyrus’s chest gently, and when Cyrus moaned in response, he hit him again much harder. He hit him several times, and each time Cyrus groaned and writhed. Jonathon lifted his hands above his head and clasped them. Cyrus looked deeply into Jonathon’s eyes, asking if he could trust him. Jonathon returned a look of love, direct and kind. It was the same look Jonathon saw when he looked at himself in a mirror at those times when he’d remembered raptures with other men and wondered what it meant.
Cyrus reached up and kissed Jonathon deeply. Jonathon pushed him back and began to twist his nipples. Again, Cyrus replied with low moans. Jonathon continued his pressure and moved in front of Cyrus. He put his leg slowly between Cyrus’s thighs. Cyrus’s leg slowly arched outward, and Jonathon moved his knee closer to his crotch. With a quick but gentle push, he kneed Cyrus’ nuts. He kneed him again harder, then harder still. Each time Jonathan moved forward into the man and looked into his eyes. Each time he saw a look of near wonder, a look of amazement, then Cyrus’s eyes rolled back and he moaned very deeply. Jonathon collapsed on top of him.
“You can fuck my arse,” Cyrus said after catching his breath.
Jonathon was a man of some endowment, not thick but long and well formed and rigid with ecstasy. He eagerly pulled Cyrus to his side, pulled one of his legs up toward his shoulder and pulled back his foreskin and slid his prick into an ass wet with anticipation. It was like nothing he knew. Jonathon could not imagine his being anywhere except inside this man. He felt he was touching him as completely and lovingly as he might touch an angel. He was conveyed into Cyrus as though they were brothers and lovers or the same person. They lay together front to back and rocked. Even when they lay still their energy resonated. It built as a locomotive builds speed, slowly, urgently, forcefully until the two men had reached a point of ecstasy that neither could contain. As one they floated into a space of pure energy and soared above the landscape. Volumes of pre-cum oozed from Cyrus’ cock, but he did not touch it. The clear liquid was copious and flowed in dribbles. Cyrus lay breathing heavily, each exhale full of completion and each inhale full of anticipation.
Jonathon felt the climax rising. His dick huge and celestial the hard shaft pulsed and pumped. The sensation was so strong and unfamiliar that Jonathon reached down to keep from ejaculating. His hand gripped Cyrus’ buttocks as he reached for his own dick, to stop the sensation. Confused he inserted fingers in pursuit into Cyrus’s smooth slick muscle as he tried to get his prick. Now he had to keep this man on his arms. He wanted to hold this man for the rest of his life. Jonathon released Cyrus who turned; they wrapped their arms around each other, smothering each other with kisses. As they explored the other’s mouth both began to cum, in unison, their dicks pulsing No thoughts, no words, no ideas, just essential release, enormous outpourings of love from one to the other and a deep and abiding gathering of one into the other.
This time when it was over and the men lay together they knew it was not over. The sun hovered at the horizon, fat and orange as they dressed before walking to Jonathon’s cottage. They slept that night tangled in each other’s arms. They woke with energy and a love that equaled the afternoons.
Jonathon and Cyrus spent many nights together in Jonathon’s cottage. Then Cyrus announced to his family that he would be leaving the estate to study in America, and they were to send him money each month. He bought passages for both of them on a steamship bound from Glasgow to New York. Jonathon and Cyrus eventually came to live in San Francisco.