By Pickle
The dawning of the next day proved pleasantly mundane. I awoke in my own bed, back up in my farmhouse. The responsibility of owning livestock meant I’d reluctantly had to leave Steve’s bedroom in order to bring the cows back up from the pasture and get them into the barn in order to do the evening milking. Once again the milking process made me think of that night on the spaceship. That was only the night before last, but it felt like a year ago already.
I had no idea Steve was gay or even bi … or till that kiss, that he had ever looked at me in any way other than as his best buddy. I was happy but still a little surprised by what had transpired, and I wasn’t entirely sure at this early milking hour that it actually had occurred. I sucked back several strong black cups of coffee, and I was halfway through my third one before I could even begin to believe it hadn’t been some weird dream.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to face him that day. I was a little embarrassed that we had fucked, to be honest, and I wondered how it might affect the dynamics of our friendship. I wasn’t used to making love with another guy and was surprised by how much I’d enjoyed being with Steve in that way. I found it to be unbelievably good. The whole event had been totally unexpected! I’d never looked at him, or any other guy, in that way until he kissed me so deeply, and gave me that look. Even though I was still kinda wanting to kill him for what he’d done to me on the beach, that look was “an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I felt strangely compelled to accept.
My brain was full of contradictions about how I felt about the guy, and I didn’t know what to make of things yet. I needed the day to myself to sort things out. I couldn’t help but wonder if somehow my little “vacation” on the spaceship had affected my sexuality in some way. Had Steve come on to me before that bizarre night, I might not have punched him, but I’m pretty sure I would have kept him from going any further with it. At any rate, I knew I wouldn’t have gone along with it. I just wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.
I herded the cattle to the field again after their morning milking, and could tell I needed to put myself through a good, hard workout in my gym, and then possibly even go for a good long run. This time it would have to be a road run though, and not on the beach. I didn’t want to bump into Steve just yet. I wasn’t ready for that.
Ordinarily, before I had this alien “power juice” running through me, I would have been totally exhausted when I completed a workout like this, but now I felt like I could keep pushing myself all day. I mostly lifted, but also threw in some cross-fit, playing on my Ninja warrior set-up for about an hour at the end of it. Even so, I still hadn’t even broken a sweat, and knew I had to burn off more of this alien “energy goop” they’d pumped into me, so I did go for that run I suspected I might need.
When I got back from doing 20 km, Steve was waiting for me in one of my Adirondack chairs on the side lawn of my house. The house forms an “L,” and my workout barn is at the top of that “L” facing my back door. He was sprawled out shirtless, well-tanned and wearing short workout shorts, leaning back in the chair, legs wide apart and straight out in front. The ultimate man-spread, that on a subway car or bus would be annoying as Hell, but here it just seemed natural and kinda sexy in a way. The chairs were in that small stretch of lawn between the back door and the barn, facing out toward the part of the barnyard, where I parked my truck, tractor and other farm equipment, and out to the vegetable garden beyond.
It wasn’t yet 10:00 a.m., but the dude was downing a beer, which I assumed he’d liberated from my fridge. I didn’t question him on it though, cuz I myself was experiencing a strange sense that time meant nothing these past few days. So many things had changed since my short visit with those ugly-ass stick creatures. In spite of the early hour, I went inside and grabbed a beer for myself too. “Why the Hell not?” I thought.
Steve was sporting a wide, mischievous grin. His eyes were twinkling with fun, but I thought I detected a hint of an evil glint in them too. Fuck! The guy was looking amazing! Handsome, masculine, rugged, and sexy as Hell! His natural, gregarious, macho charisma just sucked ya right in! In spite of his Golden Retriever-like friendliness, he also had a real air of command about him. It was easy to sense he was an Alpha male without ever speaking with him. The guy was a natural born leader. There was no doubt about that.
I knew he had been a fighter pilot at some point in his career, but also knew he’d spent some time in some other branch of the military. I guessed he’d been a Green Beret, or some other form of Special Forces, but any time I asked him about it he would never tell me, joking that if he told me, he’d have to kill me. That joke got real old after about the fourth time, and I figured the point of that was to get me to stop asking. So I let it go, knowing I’d always just have to remain curious about that part of his life, since it was obvious he was never gonna share it with anyone. Hell though! After yesterday’s beach session, staked out and swallowing sea water, maybe I’d have to get him back by torturing it out of him somehow one of these days. I felt pretty confident he was the kinda guy who’d never spill his guts no matter how much pain anyone put him through though.
Even though the dude was only 39 he already had salt and pepper hair, cut in a short military-style high skin fade, and he had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. He was a little shorter than me at 6 feet tall but built like a brick shit house. All muscle! Even though I’m 6-foot-1 and athletically muscular, Steve could easily make me tap out during any submission wrestling match. Even though I’m technically a better wrestler, he can over-power me with his sheer mass and bulk. It was like wrestling with The Hulk! No fuckin’ chance against him.
“So, Dill, how ya feelin’ after yesterday’s little torture session, boy?” Steve tended to like calling me “boy,” even though I was only seven years younger than him. I guess he sensed I kinda liked it. There was no mention of the “shenanigans” in his bedroom the previous late afternoon, so I assumed we were pretending it hadn’t happened, for now at least, if not for good.
“You feelin’ up for another little torture session today, Picky boy? I’d kinda like to get my rope-work back up to snuff and figured since you looked so good in it yesterday, maybe we could try a little more of it today.” I told him I thought it seemed like his rope-work was in pretty damned good shape as it was. He chuckled and just said, “Aww c’mon Pick, be a good sport huh?”
He told me to go shower and get changed into something a little less comfortable. I too was shirtless and wearing only running shoes and thin green military “silkies.”
“You know I like the “country casual” look on ya Pick, so how about it huh?”
I showered and put on a pair of tight, faded 501s that showed off that I never skipped leg day, deciding to freeball it today. Then I rummaged through my closet for a button-down with cut-off sleeves, since that’s what Steve had loudly hinted at, and decided on a khaki-coloured, military-style shirt with epaulettes, and nicely curved, deep-cut shirttails. I liked how the shape of those shirttails kinda mirrored the shape of the muscles of my lower torso.
I was about to head downstairs when I had the afterthought of grabbing a baseball cap I’d bought as a souvenir on the S.S. Midway, when I’d toured it in San Diego a while ago. It was dark blue and had the ship’s name embroidered in gold lettering above the bill. I put it on backwards. I checked myself out in the full-length hall mirror and approved of the image that stared back at me, “Yeah Dill, you could pass for a military guy on leave. You’re not a half-bad lookin’ dude, bro.”
When I’d bought the cap, I knew there was a Special Forces SEAL Training base on a remote part of Coronado Island, across from where the Midway was docked. I remembered wondering what it would be like to be one of those young soldiers being put through a ton of tough military training by a “Full Metal Jacket” type of Drill Sergeant, and daydreamed about it, both at the time, and again just now.
Steve had driven up from the cottage in his Ford 350, and while I was changing he had pulled a large canvas duffle bag out of the back of it. When he saw me come out of the house, he said, “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about soldier! Gotta love the ‘country boy look’ on you, Pick! Always liked that shirt on ya bud, and it’s perfect for what I’ve got in mind for ya today too, soldier!” He gave me a huge wink as he spoke those words.
“You still got that electric winch set-up in there?” He pointed to my workout barn. I nodded. He pointed to the duffle bag that was lying beside him, indicating he expected me to lug it into the barn. Steve moved in behind me, gave me a hearty thump on the back and said, “Move it, grunt boy!” with a hearty chuckle.
Once in the barn, I instinctively dumped the bag near the winch, and then turned on the lights. The building only had a few windows, and they were upstairs at both ends in the hayloft, so the lights had to be on, even on the brightest days. The barn had been built with a large, central two-story area in the centre, with haylofts off to each side. The floor of the haylofts was held up by several 10-foot-high 8-by-8’s, so the downstairs footprint of the barn was a huge open area, except for the posts under the lofts.
It made a perfect gym space, and having the two haylofts meant there was plenty of space for out-of-the-way storage. Steve went to the door we’d entered through, locked it, and then checked the other doors in the building. From the look on my face he knew I was curious as to why. He said with a big wink, “We don’t want anyone rescuing you now do we, soldier?” After yesterday’s pay-up those words made me gulp, but they also got my slightly masochistic curiosity up, and my cock stirring slightly. I had a feeling I was in for some PoW treatment from my buddy. Other than yesterday’s treatment, I usually enjoyed the good-natured masculine tests my buddy had come up with in the past.
“Ok, boy, stand over here where I can have a good look at ya.”
“ATTENTION!”
“Stay put soldier!”
“Sir, Yes SIR!” I decided to play along.
He kept me at “Attention” for a good ten minutes while he checked me out thoroughly, first with his eyes, circling me slowly several times, making me feel like a self-conscious piece of meat, and then with his large “paws.”
I felt like I was a slave being sized-up by a prospective buyer, or a bull being inspected at auction. Initially he “searched” me in a brusk and thoroughly professional, military fashion. Then he slapped me several times on the gut and pecs, and swatted each butt cheek in turn … hard!
When I thought the assessment was over, he “searched” me again. This time in a much more sensual and leisurely manner. The fucker was feeling’ me up! He lingered on my swollen cock, rubbed its length through my jeans very slowly five or six times, looked me in the eyes and grinned a half-sardonic smile. The slow stimulation of my cock reminded me of how it had been done when I’d been captured.
“At EASE, soldier!”
Sir, Yes SIR!” I shouted at him in my best imitation of a boot camp recruit.
Steve grabbed a wooden sawhorse from the side of my barn and brought one end up to me, placing it just in front of my crotch. “Drop ’em, and put your gut down on that, soldier!” I figured I was in for some CP, and did as I was told, accompanied by another “Sir, Yes SIR!”
Steve rummaged around in the canvas bag he’d brought with him and came out with a metal butt plug and some lube. To me it looked like something that might be dropped on the enemy from a military bomber. He slapped my ass several times sharply and then prepped my hole and carefully slid the thing inside my guts. He reached back into the military bag and brought out some electrical cords designed for E-stim or some other similar electrical toy. He got the butt plug attached and pulled the cords through between my legs and under my nuts.
“Stand up and pull up your pants, soldier! Be fuckin’ careful of the wires. If they detach you’ll be sorry, maggot!”
“Sir, Yes SIR!”
I got my pants up and arranged the cords so they would come out through the button-fly of my jeans, still wondering what the guy had planned for me.
“At Ease, soldier!”
“Sir, Yes SIR!”
I was beginning to think if this kept up, sayin’ “Sir” like this just might become a habitual thing for me. I found myself kinda likin’ the military atmosphere Steve was creating, and I was glad I’d chosen this particular shirt for him. Even though with the sleeves cut off of it, I’d have been thrown in the brig in a hurry, for being severely out-of-uniform!
I spread my legs slightly and clasped my wrists behind my back. Steve slowly circled me a few more times, and then said, “You’re out of uniform Dickwad!”
Fuck! He must have read my mind, I thought.
“You sure as Hell look like a fuckin’ sloppy redneck piece o’ shit today, don’t ya Fuckwit?” He didn’t give me time to reply. “I usually really dig that ‘country boy’ look ya got goin’ on boy. For my purposes today though Recruit Dill, I want you to look a little more … uh, … ‘presentable’, shall we say?”
I looked at him questioningly.
“Tuck those fuckin’ sloppy shirttails in soldier, and do it NOW, Cocksucker!” He was playing his part well and I began to get the idea he’d ordered guys around like this before, in a professional capacity.
I was surprised by the order, since I knew Steve liked this laid-back, farm boy look on me. He’d told me in the past he felt it made me look boyishly charming, masculine and sexy, and was how he thought I looked best. He encouraged me to dress down like this more often. He’d even cut the sleeves off me a few times, when he had me restrained during some pay-ups on bets and teased that he just might have to see to it that I lose the sleeves off of every damned shirt I owned.
The day he made that comment, I remembered actually going home and cutting the sleeves off a few more of my button-down shirts in honour of his little taunt. Since Steve had moved into my cottage, my collection of sleeveless button-down shirts had grown considerably. Every time I reached in to pick out a shirt, I couldn’t help but think of Jeff Foxworthy, and one of his Redneck jokes. “If there’s more than five shirts in your closet with the sleeves cut off, ya might be a Redneck!” … I counted twelve of ’em in mine.
Obediently I unbuttoned my jeans and tucked my shirt in, and buttoned them up again, complete with the wires protruding out through the fly. I stood back up ‘at ease’ and looked straight ahead at my “CO.” At least, I guessed that’s what Steve had decided to “be” for this. We’d never done any ‘role-play’ for any of the pay-ups we’d put each other through in the past, so this was new territory for me. He stepped forward, locked eyes, held my gaze and gave my balls a quick, firm, upward punch.
“Fuck YOU, Dickwad!!!”
He just grinned and did it again. “Just checkin’ to see if you’ve GOT any balls, soldier!”
“I have a little challenge for ya, Dill, but I’m not sure whether you’ve actually got the cajónes for it or not.”
“If you lose we’ll repeat yesterday’s pay-up, but this time I’ll stake you out another few feet down from the high tide line and make things a little more interesting for ya. I might even stake ya out face up this time, boy. Never know what you might see up there in the sky, huh soldier! Better start practicing holding your breath now, Pickleboy, cuz I think you’re gonna lose this one, my friend.”
“If you win though, I’ll donate 500 bucks to the charity of your choice, in your name, bud.”
I asked what the challenge was going to be. He refused to tell me, saying, “Now THAT would just take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it buddy boy?”
“So whad’ya gonna do Pick? Ya got the guts? … Or are ya gonna be a pussy-boy?”
“Spread-eagle ocean waterboarding OR $500 bucks for charity. What d’ya say, Wimp-shit? Up to you, and how tough you decide to be, whether you win this one or not, boy! And remember. The charity is counting on ya, soldier!”
Steve had never given me a “blind challenge” before. One where I had no idea what the challenge would be. I thought of the ordeal he’d put me through the previous day and knew there was no way in Hell I wanted to go through that again. Even pumped full of “magical” alien gunk of whatever sort it had been, and made kind of super-human, it had still been a horrendous ordeal.
Steve could tell I was hesitating and said, “Aww c’mon Pick! It tells me a lot about a guy when he has no idea what kind of challenge he’s about to accept and he takes it anyway. Tells me even more about him if he doesn’t take it too, boy! Where I come from it’s “guy code.” Ya just gotta take a challenge if a guy gives you one. So … what’s it gonna be Dill? You got the guts?”
I thought about it for another ten seconds or so, and figured I knew him well enough that this was going to be really tough, whatever it was, but that he’d also keep me safe … and after all, IF I did win it, it was really terrific that he’d donate money to some kids.
“Oh what the Hell man! Let’s do it!”
To be continued …
