The Farmer and Dale, Chapter 2

The Farmer and Dale

Chapter Two

Dale finished the last dish and placed it in the drainer. Seven a.m., right on time. He could hear the approaching drone of a heavy piece of machinery. He shook his head and smiled, Rick was true to his word. Fortunately, Dale was an early riser, he'd been up since five. He covered the draining dishes with a dishtowel, opened the door between the kitchen and the mud room, unlocked the back door and stepped out.

It was another beautiful day. The sky was clear blue, a few clouds moving majestically overhead. Dale followed the concrete walk around to the front of the house and down to the gravel driveway, arriving just as Rick turned in. He could clearly see the big grin plastered to Rick's face. That shit, he thought fondly, he didn't think I'd be up.

Dale motioned Rick to drive on back to the grove. He stopped back in the mud room for a pair of leather gloves, a wry smile on his face as he held them to his nose and took a sniff. He shook his head. It just wasn't the same without Rick's contribution. Walking back to the grove, he watched Rick climb down, then reach across the floorboards for something. He pulled first one, then a larger, long, bulky, black case from the backhoe.

Rick set both cases on the ground and waited for Dale. "I see you're up." he quipped as Dale reached him.

"Yeah, man, it was a real chore." Dale rejoined sarcastically.

Rick laughed and slapped him playfully on the back, "No, man, the real chores are about to begin. You ever use a chainsaw?"

Dale's brows rose as he shook his head.

"Well, you're about to learn, that is if you're not a total klutz. You're not one of these people who trip over their own feet are you?" For some reason Rick seemed to enjoy the hell out of teasing Dale.

"I can walk and chew gum at the same time, if that's what you're asking."

"Good, in fact that's great. So here's the plan."

Rick gave Dale the rundown. Rick was going to start at the outside edge of the grove and pull out a half dozen trees and haul them further up into the yard where Dale could work on them. Dale was to use the smaller chainsaw, cutting the branches off which they'd gather in one big pile. As soon as Rick got the trees down, he'd use the bigger chainsaw and go to work on the trunks of the trees, cutting them into manageable pieces. He asked Dale if he wanted to save any of the wood for his fireplace, to which Dale replied in the affirmative. It was decided they'd save the best wood for Dale's use, and burn the branch pile. Rick had already alerted a buddy of his that there was some wood to be hauled at the Vaden place, so the rest would be taken care of by his friend.

"You don't waste any time do you?" Dale asked in amazement. Rick had the whole thing
planned out.

"Farmer's can't waste time, wasted opportunities can mean the difference between getting in the harvest, as opposed to watching it rot in the field while it rains." he explained with a wry smile, his blue-green eyes twinkling. "Now, let's get you checked out on the chainsaw."

Rick opened the smaller case, brought out the chainsaw and explained its operation to Dale. He donned safety glasses, handing Dale a second pair. Using one of the trees that was already on the ground, he demonstrated the chainsaw's proper use, then handed it over to Dale. He watched as Dale, at first hesitantly, then with growing confidence, wielded it. He corrected a few things concerning his stance, making sure he handled it in the safest possible way. Satisfied, Rick climbed on the backhoe and they began.

Dale found Rick's closeness a bit of a distraction at first. He'd worried he might spend the day sporting an erection. He felt like groaning as he watched Rick's tight ass do interesting things as he mounted the backhoe. Several hours later, his one worry was, would he make it through the day.

By no means out of shape, Dale ate right and exercised regularly, but this he was unprepared for, the intense physical labor. Rick on the other hand seemed to breeze through the day. Granted he spent part of it operating the backhoe, but after the trees were down, he took up the big chainsaw and began cutting the tree trunks. The chainsaw he used was far larger than the one Dale wielded. Dale felt the strain in the muscles of his arms, shoulders and back. Muscles he wished he could remain ignorant of were clamoring their protests. He could only imagine their silent screams had he been using the large chainsaw all day.

The men stopped for lunch, walking back to the house. Dale had a variety of cold cuts and cheeses from which they constructed sandwiches. They also munched on cut up veggies, which they dipped in ranch dressing. Dale offered beer and was about to take one for himself, until Rick vetoed the idea. No drinking while operating the chainsaws, he insisted. They settled for iced tea, Rick also insisting that Dale drink at least one large glass of water as well, to avoid dehydration.

Both men had worked up quite a sweat and had dispensed with their shirts on the walk back to the house. Dale had perked up at the sight. He had to admit that the scenery had vastly improved when Rick peeled off his clinging tee. There was no denying the man was built. Farm chores had done wonders for his physique.

Rick's pecs were firm, solid, slabs of muscle that shifted smoothly with each movement. When he ran his hands over the damp, golden hair that had been matted down by sweat, his nipples firmed at the contact. Dale shivered. His own nipples tightened, not only from the random breezes that cooled his sweat-dampened skin, but from Rick's actions and the sight of each hard level of his washboard abs. With his broad shoulders, tightly muscled arms, vee shaped torso that flowed down to trim waist, perfectly proportioned hips and legs, Rick was a woman's, not to mentions a gay or bi man's, wet dream come true.

Dale would have been surprised to know that Rick was casting more than a few glances his way. The same breeze that caused Dale's nipples to pinch tight, had brought his warm musky scent to Rick's nostril. Not only did his nose register the scent, but his cock had as well. He was glad when they reached the house, and he could excuse himself to use the bathroom. He washed up, splashing cold water on his face and the back of his neck. All the while he kept picturing Dale.

Of similar height, Dale being an inch or two shorter, he was possessed of, what Rick thought of as an athlete's build. Lean and strong, with firm bundles of muscles in his arms and legs, his chest and stomach were taut and solid, his buttocks tight, with an enticing flex that occurred when he walked or bent. The dark reddish brown hair that topped his head also lightly covered his forearms and chest. Rick cursed softly as he recalled those tightly pinched nipples. The thought of taking one into his mouth to nibble, had his cock standing at attention. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled a rueful smile. I gotta get laid, he thought.

He opened his jeans and with some maneuvering and a little judiciously placed cold water, his protesting erection subsided. He shivered, thinking once again of the advantage women had over men. At least they could hide when they were horny, instead of having their bodies broadcast it to who ever happened to look their way. He wondered what Dale would think if he came out of the bathroom with a hardon. A nifty little fantasy began in his head. He pictured Dale, falling to his knees, eager to swallow his raging rod. Said rod began responding. Rick sighed, and again applied the cold water. This time he kept his mind blank, and tucking his chastened appendage away, rejoined Dale.

After lunch, they donned their shirts, which had dried out in the sun where they'd left them draped over an old clothes line. Picking up where they left off, they continued for several more hours, until Rick called a halt. He'd watched Dale carefully and knew that he was sore and tired. Hell, he was tired himself. They packed the chainsaws into their cases and carried them up to the house, leaving them in the mud room.

Dale opened the refrigerator and indicating the beer, asked, "Now?"

Rick grinned, "Now."

Dale handed him a long necked bottle, each twisting off the cap and taking a deep swallow. Twin sighs of pleasure and relief echoed in the room.

Rick studied Dale's tired face, "Too much for you, city boy?" He asked, with teasing concern.

"Truth?" Dale replied, "Just about. I haven't been this tired since...hell, I'm not sure I've ever been this tired." He took another swig of his beer.

Rick set his bottle down and moved behind Dale, his big hands closing over his shoulders where he began a firm, soothing massage. Such a move was natural for Rick, his family was casually demonstrative, easily exchanging hugs, hand shakes, and kisses.

Dale couldn't help the groan that crawled from his throat. He'd tensed at Rick's initial touch, but it wasn't possible to remain tense while Rick worked magic on muscles that screamed for relief.

"Here's what you do." Rick told him as he worked Dale's aching muscles, "Run a tub full of water, hot as you can stand it, throw in some Epsom salts, if you have any, and soak. Then get your ass to bed, cause there's more of the same tomorrow, buddy." He released Dale with a firm pat on the back and took up his beer, gulping it down.

"I'm going to leave the backhoe and walk down to mom and dad's. There's no sense driving it back when were going to be using it for the next few days." Rick told him as he headed out the back door.

Dale followed, "Well wait a second, I can give you ride."

Rick snorted. "Save your gas, man, it's just a quarter mile," he scoffed, "but thanks for the offer. Now go take that bath. You're a might odiferous, if you know what I mean."

No way was he going to admit just how much he liked that odor or how much it turned him on. Not to mention the kind of ride he really wanted.

Dale grinned and called after him, "You better take your own advice, you're not exactly a sweet rosebud yourself."

Rick flipped him off and headed down the driveway. The sound of Dale's laughter melted over him, a feeling of well-being suffusing him. As he walked, his smile faded, his stomach tightening, quivering.

"Dale Vaden." he whispered. His stomach did a flip. Oh God, he thought, I think I'm in trouble. Anticipation and dread warred as he arrived at his parent's house, unlocked his truck, climbed inside and headed home.

* * *

The next two days passed in the same way. At lunch, which they always ate shirtless, they talked, taking the opportunity to get to know each other. Rick questioned Dale about his occupation, intrigued when Dale revealed he was a writer.

"What kind of books do you write?" he asked, "I don't recall reading anything with your name on it." Rick fired the first salvo in their usual badger sessions.

"To begin with, I write under a pseudonym. You know what that means, don't you, farm boy?" Dale had taken to teasing Rick, just as much as Rick teased him.

"Uh gee, I ain't sure mister, splain it to me, would you, please?" Rick's feigned stupidity caused them both to chuckle.

"All right, smart ass, Keith Adams, that's the name I write under." Dale confessed a bit
sheepishly.

He was always reluctant for people to know his pen name. Like many writers, he felt parts of himself were displayed in each book. If a person knew he was the author, they could see those parts of himself he'd just as soon keep hidden, Anonymity was comforting.

Rick gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding?"

Dale denied it with a shake of his head.

"Man, I've got every single one of your books!" he enthused, "Your last one, Bake Sale, man, some of those scenes literally had me howling. When the one chef was killed by the exploding cake? Even though the death itself wasn't funny, the tongue in cheek way you wrote the scene was brilliant. I gotta tell you Dale that was black humor at its finest."

Again for the first time in years, Dale felt himself blush. Rick's praise and enthusiasm touched him like no other. To say he was pleased was an understatement.

"Thanks, man, I'm glad you liked it. I thought it turned out rather well myself."

"Wait til the neighbors hear we've got a celebrity in our midst." Rick continued, until he noticed the somewhat panicked expression on Dale's face. "What's wrong?"

Dale took a deep breath, "I'd just as soon you didn't mention this to anyone." He paused for a moment, considering his words, "I've had a few problems, in the past, from over-zealous fans. I feel like a fool even having to say that, but some people get carried away. You'd think they'd save that shit for movie stars and such, but I guess some people aren't too discriminating."

Rick nodded his understanding, "I won't say a word. And what do you mean by that, aren't too discriminating, crap? You're a talented, good-looking man. I might stalk you, if I had a few drinks in me." Rick sought to lighten the mood and succeeded.

Dale pursed his lips, frowning, "You asshole, let's go back to work."

* * *

The fourth day began much the same as the first three, Rick arrived promptly at seven and swung out of his truck. He made his way around to the back and entered, smiling as the familiar smell of coffee wafted to his nostrils. He stepped through the doorway to find a cup waiting on the table. A grin lit his face as he seated himself and brought the pungent brew to his nose, inhaling deeply before ingesting that first exquisite sip. A heartfelt groan of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

He set the cup down and looked at Dale, his grin renewing itself. Dale stood shaking his head, his own smile playing over his face.

"I can't help it. You've got the best coffee in the county, hell probably the whole state."

On their second day, Rick had discovered Dale's coffee. Dale had some special blend of beans he bought from a place in Seattle, which he ground himself. The stuff was heavenly. Since that first taste, Rick made it a point to start their work day with a cup of Dale's coffee.

Dale watched Rick as he nursed the treasured cup. His honey blonde hair was tousled, blown about by the breeze before he'd entered the house. Dale was seized with a sudden impulse to cross the room and run his fingers through the soft, silky strands. He felt himself begin to stiffen. Hastily, he took a chair at the table and concentrated on his own cup, silently cursing himself for a fool.

He looked up to find Rick's intense, blue-green tinged, gaze on him. A silent message seemed to flash between them, the air suddenly tense, electric. Rick broke the look, taking another sip from his cup. Dale sat, still and silent, his breath fast and shallow, his heart racing. He felt like the rabbit that cowered in the tall grass, frozen with fear, as the predator passed. In this case there was no fear, there was only the hope that the predator would strike.

"I thought we'd do something different today." Rick announced. "Give those poor, city boy muscles a chance to flex in another direction."

Dale looked up, startled, unsure what Rick meant. He was met with Rick's usual grin. A frisson of disappointment shuddered through him, but he rallied.

"Just exactly what is it you've got planned for us, boss?"

Rick went into his farm boy mode, "Seein' as how you got that there dumpster delivered
yesterday, I thought we'd fill er up." He waited for Dale's reaction. Dale snorted and shrugged. "Seriously, I thought we could take care of all the stuff you want to get rid of today. Fill up the dumpster, haul the good stuff to Goodwill like you wanted. Does that sound like a plan?"

"It's a plan, man." Dale quipped. "Let's go to it. That is, if you can tear yourself away from that coffee cup."

"I'll manage." Rick replied sarcastically, taking a last sip.

He stood and they both headed out the door. Rick watched the mesmerizing flex of Dale's ass as he walked out ahead of him. Taking a deep breath, he silently blew it out. He'd almost blown it. When Dale sat down at the table with him, he'd had such a forlorn look on his face. It was too cute. Rick had had the sudden urge to round the table, pick him up and carry him off somewhere to love that look off his face. To replace it with passion and need. To make Dale beg for release. With that fantasy running in his head, filling his eyes, Dale had looked up, falling straight into the fire. Rick saw his eyes widen, his pupils dilate, the rhythm of his breath increase.

He'd seen that reaction before. At Stud's, when he picked up a guy for a quick fuck in the back. Only this was Dale, Dale who made his heart flutter and his stomach quiver. Dale, whom he wanted to make love to, not fuck and walk away from like a stranger.. Dale, who changed everything. Dale, who scared the shit out of him. Dale. The man who in just a few days time represented heaven and could plunge him into hell.

Rick wasn't ready to face these new and unfamiliar emotions, and so he'd backed off. He'd known at that moment that Dale reciprocated his interest, at least in a physical way, but what about the rest? What about love? Rick shook his head. It was too soon, too much, he had to think about it. So lost in thought was he, that he didn't see Dale stop, and plowed right into him.

Dale stumbled and caught himself, turning, "Damn, buddy, anybody home?"

Rick had to laugh at the half annoyed expression on Dale's face. "Yeah, city boy, sorry, I was thinking."

"Whoa," Dale quipped, "that had to hurt."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on boy, you got too much sass in you. Let's work some of it off."

They decided to load the truck first and drop off the boxes at Goodwill. That accomplished, they headed home and began to fill the dumpster. They cleared the garage and barn of old fencing, paint cans, shingles, rotted lumber and items too numerous to mention. There was even an old refrigerator and a couple of lawn mowers that were long past their prime and irreparable.

At the end of the day, they again stood in the kitchen, slugging down a cold beer.

Dale wiped the sweat from his brow, "I thought this was going to be easier. It wasn't easier." He dead-panned.

"Looking forward to getting back to those trees tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah." Dale agreed sarcastically.

"Hey, three more days should see the deed done. Tell you what," Rick offered, "the day
after we finish, we'll celebrate. Drag that grill out that's in the garage. You fire it up, I'll bring the steaks and we'll have a barbeque. When it gets dark, we'll light up the brush pile and have an old fashioned marshmallow roast. How's that sound?"

Dale smiled, enchanted by Rick's boyish enthusiasm, "It sound good. Sounds very good."

Rick headed out the back door, Dale following behind, "Hope you're a good cook." He turned and winked, "I'm particular about my meat."

Dale raised an eyebrow as a chuckling Rick climbed into his truck. Now just what was that supposed to mean?
* * *

Three days later, just as Rick predicted, the final tree came down. The next day was spent
making a wood pile for Dale's use, and helping Rick's friend, Craig, load and haul away load after load of the excess. They finished the day early and Rick invited Dale to join him in town at Smiley's, for a few beers.

Dale accepted and spent a semi-pleasant evening being introduced to Rick's friends and
acquaintances. He couldn't help but notice Rick's popularity. Several women were particularly insistent about staying close to him. He danced with some of them. Dale sat in their booth, conversing and laughing, all the while hiding his melancholy and jealousy.

Their time was over. The job was done and there was no reason for Rick to spend his days with him. All their time together and Rick had not once made a move. Beyond that look they'd exchanged in the kitchen, beyond their usual banter, there had been nothing. Dale was sure he'd seen interest in Rick's eyes. But here, now, in this bar, it was apparent that Rick was into women. Dale felt he must have been mistaken, miserably mistaken.

Any enjoyment he had derived from the evening, fell flat. When Rick returned from his latest whirl on the dance floor, Dale tendered his excuses and made his way to the door. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

Rick halted him, "We're still on for tomorrow, the barbeque, right?"

Dale gazed at him, Rick seemed almost anxious for his answer. He smiled, "Yeah, we're still on."

"Good." Rick replied with satisfaction and surprised Dale by accompanying him out the door.

"Uh Rick?" he quipped, "You don't have to walk me to my car, man."

"Smart ass, I'm heading home. I'm going to bed so I can dream about a big, juicy piece of
meat."

Once again Dale gave Rick a startled look. He shivered at the fire he saw blazing in his eyes.

Rick's eyes gentled, he reached out running two fingers slowly over the curve of Dale's cheek, while his thumb rubbed lightly across Dale's bottom lip, "Don't worry about it, babe. We'll sort it out tomorrow."

Without another word, he crossed the lot to his truck, jumped in and took off. Dale watched him leave, his head whirling, his cheek and lip tingling. Babe? Rick called me babe, he thought, oh God, I think I'm in trouble. He had no way of knowing that his sentiments had been echoed, several days earlier, by the man who'd invaded his life, his dreams, his fantasies, and his heart.

Dale climbed into his car and drove slowly home. His emotions were in turmoil. Anticipation, trepidation, excitement, fear, all warred inside his confused psyche. He wanted Rick, was sure he was falling in love with him, but he was frightened. Did Rick want anything beyond a fuck? A night? Would they begin a relationship, only to have it end? Would this be Tony all over again?

He bit his lip until the pain made him wince, admonishing himself to stop. What ever Rick wanted, he knew he wasn't going to pass the opportunity by. He was a grown man, with thirty years of living under his belt. It was time he got on with his life. He just hoped he'd be able to survive the consequences.

To be continued....